


The Undone and The Divine

by Anonymous



Series: Trevilieu Porn [1]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Dom/sub Undertones, I mean Treville is definitely in control and Richelieu is NOT complaining, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: “Can you come from this?”“Jean, please —”“I think you could,” Treville says. “I think you could finish without a hand on your cock.” He slips his hands behind Richelieu to cup his arse, relishing the surprised cry.Treville can’t help but grin at Richelieu’s expression. “You said you wanted a distraction,” he reminds him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [be_cum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/be_cum/gifts).



> Fill for a prompt from be_cum "dirty talk. also coming in pants. also coming untouched." This is that... and more. (Please feel free to leave other trevilieu prompts!)

Treville has never understood why the main office of the Palais Cardinal is so massive. It’s not like the cardinal uses the whole space — his desk is at one end, the main door at another, and a great expanse of nothing in between. Though Richelieu probably has his reasons. 

One thing he does like about it though, is that there is a passage leading directly from it to Richelieu’s bedchamber. On a normal night — and, Treville must admit, some days — this means that they manage to make it there in time. 

Tonight is not a normal night. Treville barely got the door closed behind them before Richelieu was on him, furiously growling,  _“Where were you?”_  before kissing him. 

Treville isn’t complaining. He’s still wearing his coat and gloves — Richelieu is wearing his full cardinal robes — it’s fulfilling about ten of his fantasies at once. 

Richelieu is still glaring at him when they finally break for air, but the effect is somewhat diminished by his firm grip on Treville’s jacket, and the way he can’t seem to catch his breath as Treville presses him back against the wall. 

He can't avoid ripping the front of Richelieu’s robes as he violently tugs it open, just enough to expose Richelieu’s narrow chest. The cross around his neck gleams brassy-gold at Treville, now resting on naked skin rather than black cloth, and somehow more striking for it. He abandons his efforts once the buttons are all undone, and one shoulder is hanging off, drawing Treville’s attention back to the long, exposed line of Richelieu’s neck. 

Treville leans in to bite at his collarbone. Can’t mark his neck, couldn’t even blame that on one of his mistresses, but here? Where no one can see? That’s fair game, and Treville intends to take advantage. It also has the benefit of hiding his face, which is a good thing as he suspects his current expression is rather too fond. This close, he can’t help but breath in the lingering scent of incense, transferred from ecclesiastical robes to skin.  

He scrapes his teeth along the bone, before pausing to suck hard, making Richelieu gasp. The aborted thrust of his hips makes Treville groan against his skin, but doesn’t distract him from his efforts. By the time he pulls away, Richelieu looks wrecked, but happily so. He pulls Treville back in for a kiss that’s more teeth than tongue, more urgency than seduction. 

Treville’s hand naturally gravitates back towards Richelieu’s hair, and it’s Richelieu’s turn to groan as Treville buries his fingers in the soft curls. 

He loves that hair. He really, really does. Sometimes just the thought of touching it is enough to make his mouth go dry. 

His other hand trails down to return to Richelieu’s chest, thumb rubbing against the marks he’s put there. He can’t help but grin into the kiss at the shiver this provokes from Richelieu. His hips jerk — unable to decide whether to grind back against the pressure or thrust forward in search of release.

Treville pulls back, just enough so that Richelieu can’t find relief against his thigh. “Can you come from this?” 

“Jean, please —” 

“I think you could,” Treville says. “I think you could finish without a hand on your cock.” He slips his hands behind Richelieu to cup his arse, relishing the surprised cry.

Treville can’t help but grin at Richelieu’s expression. “You said you wanted a distraction,” he reminds him. 

“You think this —” Richelieu presses back against Treville’s hand, as if it weren’t obvious what he’s talking about, “— wasn’t a distraction? 

The plug currently holding Richelieu open isn’t large. Not more so than he can handle, at least — as thick as Treville’s cock and somewhat shorter — but it’s enough to make him pay attention. It’s enough that Treville can feel the base of it through the fabric of his robes when he slips his hands behind Richelieu and reaches down to cup his arse — and it’s enough to make the Cardinal gasp when he does. 

Treville remembers preparing Richelieu for the plug that morning. He had been shaking when Treville slipped it into his body. He’s shaking now. 

Richelieu must have been able to feel it rubbing at his insides all day — the sensation just enough to keep him aroused, but never enough to make him come. 

Not then, anyway. Not alone. 

“I think it was a constant presence in the back your mind. I think you felt it every time you moved, everywhere you went. But a distraction?” Treville shakes his head. Presses his fingers against the base, driving it deeper, kissing Richelieu to contain his cry. “No. You were working when I got here.” 

Richelieu pants, flushed. “I’m always working.” 

“Not tonight. Tonight is just about you, and how I make you feel, and I want you to  _pay attention_.” 

Richelieu moans as Treville starts to touch him again, as his gloved hands slip down inside the black robes.

“I saw you at court today, standing behind the king,” Treville says, somewhat breathlessly. “And I remember how I had you this morning, how it felt to see you under my hands —” those same hands now reaching down to graze against Richelieu’s nipples. From the way he had reacted the first time Treville paid attention to them, he was probably the first person to discover how sensitive Richelieu’s nipples are. Not one of his many mistresses. Not those unnamed men from the seminary, whom Richelieu still talks about with a fond smile. None of them have heard the whimper that Richelieu makes when fingers rub, pinch, or even brush against them. 

Treville scrapes his leather-clad thumb against one, and Richelieu practically sobs. 

“— how I slid this thing inside you and made you moan,” he continues, half-caught in the memory, “and how it felt to watch you strain and writhe because of me. I looked and I knew you were still full, _wanting,_ and thinking of me.” 

“Please, don’t tease —” 

Treville kisses his neck, murmurs, “look at the state of you,” and presses hard against the plug.

Richelieu bucks under his hands. “I felt it all day," he moans. "I could almost pretend it was you. But it was merciless — nothing like —” He clutches Treville’s sleeve. “Jean,  _please_ , it’s too much. It’s been so long, I  _can’t_  —” 

“Of course you can,” Treville says, his voice rough with desire. “Show me. Let me watch you.” 

“I —  _Jean,_  I need —  _Jean —!”_  Richelieu breaks off with strangled cry, and his entire body drops, sagging against Treville. Looking down, Treville can clearly see the damp stain on the front of his robes. He runs his fingers through the curls at the nape of Richelieu’s neck fondly, kissing his temple. 

Arousal has added colour to the Cardinal’s normally pale cheeks, and he’s panting — a dazed expression on his face. When Treville kisses him, all the urgency is gone — Richelieu’s lips part beneath his, gentle and open, almost pliant in the way he leans into Treville’s touch. 

He winces slightly when Treville’s other hand wanders down over his arse, nudging against the base of the plug, and a little breath escapes him. 

Treville can feel himself smile slightly as he says, “Do you want me to take it out now, or in bed?” 

“Bed,” Richelieu says quickly, quietly, against Treville’s neck as if to hide the word, as if it needs to be hidden. 

_Don’t,_  Treville wants to say.  _Don’t hide it. I want this._ But then Richelieu never talks much after sex, perhaps to make up for how vocal he is during. Something about pleasure — a gentle touch — undoes him, physically and mentally, and puts him at ease. 

“Did you come?” Richelieu asks. 

Treville shakes his head. He can feel his own arousal, still hot and coiled low in him, and the sight of Richelieu like this isn’t doing anything to cool it. 

He can feel the curve of Richelieu’s lips against his neck. “Bed,” Richelieu says again. 

Treville just has to kiss him after that — one hand tilting the bearded chin up and kissing him fiercely, the other returning to his arse and pulling him closer. He eagerly swallows Richelieu’s groans. 

In the moment after they finally break apart for air, Treville moves his hand down under Richelieu’s knees and lifts him. Richelieu’s hands — already clutching Treville’s jacket — tighten, and he gasps, before settling in Treville’s arms. 

The corridor connecting Richelieu’s office to his bed chamber is short, and his weight is — honestly — less of a burden than it should be. Treville kicks the door open and deposits Richelieu on the bed, then stands back to take in the sight. 

He looks wrecked. His robes are dishevelled, torn, stains stark on the black cloth, and his hair is beyond tousled, but more than anything it’s the expression on his face that makes it clear he’s been thoroughly ravished. When Treville bends down and kisses him, Richelieu’s mouth is pliant and warm and slack with pleasure. He makes a small, contented sound against Treville’s lips. It’s a moment before either of them break away, and Richelieu frowns, shifting uncomfortably. 

“I know,” Treville grins. “I’ll get you out of those clothes.” 

“Well, if you insist on ruining them,” Richelieu says. 

“I didn’t hear you complain at the time.” 

Richelieu huffs. “You distracted me.” 

“Alright,” Treville concedes. “Do you want to sit up?” 

The quick wince that passes across Richelieu’s face is all the answer Treville needs. “Never mind,” he says. The plug, of course. 

He doesn’t bother to undress Richelieu slowly, teasingly — the robes are already damaged beyond repair, so he cuts them away with his parrying dagger. Richelieu stays supine on the bed, shifting when directed, but otherwise relaxed. Treville can feel the weight of his gaze when he undresses himself, unbuttoning his jacket and letting it fall to the floor along with his sword belt. 

He’s still hard, of course, but it’s manageable. 

Richelieu’s thighs spread easily as Treville comes to kneel between them, finally exposing him, the plug holding him open. The dark, lacquered wood looks obscene in contrast to the pale skin of Richelieu’s thighs and arse, which still bare the traces of his come. Treville takes a moment to admire it, resting his fingers lightly on the taut skin surrounding the wood. The sight alone is almost enough to drive him to release early, but he controls himself. 

The sound Richelieu makes when Treville takes hold of the plug is unlike any he’s heard before. His hole tightens around the polished wood, but relaxes as Treville moves it gently inside him, pushing and pulling it, coaxing the muscles to let go. 

“Beautiful,” he can’t help but say. 

Richelieu was already flushed, but Treville can see by the look on his face that he’s embarrassed. 

It’s a familiar, if still vaguely confusing reaction. Treville has seen Richelieu react to compliments a thousand times in public — there’s a reason no one truly calls the cardinal ‘modest’. Yet during sex, he blushes at the slightest praise. Treville doesn’t understand it — he’s just labeled it as one of the many aspects that make up Richelieu’s character and moved on. He merely smiles, then turns to retrieve the oil sitting on the nearby table, coating his fingers liberally.

Richelieu’s cock is already hard again as Treville’s fingers return to press inside him, only up to the first knuckle, but apparently enough. Constant stimulation throughout the day must have him more sensitive. Treville takes his time, rubbing slowly and steadily. 

“Jean,” Richelieu moans, and shivers, and Treville knows it is not from the cold. 

“Don’t touch yourself,” Treville says.

Richelieu’s legs are already open, but Treville lifts one of them over his shoulder, spreading him still further. When he bends his head down, Richelieu hisses, "Yes —"

Treville starts slowly, with small, gentle licks all around the rim, not even trying to replace his fingers with his tongue yet. He doesn’t need too — Richelieu is already gasping, tightening on his fingers. 

This alone isn’t enough to make him come, a fact that Treville has exploited mercilessly in the past by drawing this stage out until Richelieu is left a moaning, begging  _trembling_ mess — but that’s not what he’s going for tonight. Richelieu is already moaning, already begging. 

“Please, Jean —  _more_ , I need — don’t stop —  _fuck, do that again_  —” 

That he’s at this stage already makes Treville grin, just a little. He kisses the skin between the base of Richelieu’s cock and hole as he takes his fingers out, then he presses his tongue in, and Richelieu screams. 

Treville doesn’t hold back, responding to Richelieu’s cries —  _“more,_   _please”_  — by pushing deeper into him, steady and strong, relentlessly teasing the tender skin. He can feel the leg on his shoulder shaking, and he’s not surprised — normally, he takes a lot longer with this, opening Richelieu up slowly. Normally his cries are from frustration. Now, there is nothing but pure, direct pleasure. 

Treville pulls away for a second to ask, “Are you close?” 

“Yes,” Richelieu pants, desperation evident in his tone, in the way his hands clutch at the bedsheets. 

“Good,” Treville says breathlessly. “Turn over.” 

Even if Treville couldn’t see how hard Richelieu’s cock was, the way he follows Treville’s instructions without question would be more than enough to make it clear that Richelieu is so aroused he isn’t thinking straight. Treville moves him so he’s kneeling up, face buried in his arms, cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs. If Treville touched it, Richelieu would probably come instantly. He presses back eagerly into Treville’s hands when he spreads Richelieu’s arse. The sounds he makes when Treville puts his tongue back on his hole are ungodly. 

After a couple of thrusts, Richelieu tightens around him, and Treville pulls back at just the right moment to see him come for the second time — and again, without any touch to his cock. 

It’s a shame he couldn’t see Richelieu’s face, but the gasping cry he made as he came was beautiful in its own way.

Treville coaxes him to lie again on his back  — biting his lip to keep from gasping himself as his cock drags heavy and hard against Richelieu’s hip — and takes a moment to press a kiss to his sweat-damp curls. There are tears of exhaustion beneath Richelieu’s lashes, and he’s shivering all over. 

Treville waits for Richelieu to open his eyes, to focus. “It’s alright,” he says encouragingly, “you’re alright.” He pets Richelieu’s hair for a moment as he waits for him to regain his words. 

Richelieu blinks tiredly up at him. “Jean,” he croaks. 

“Once more,” Treville says. “One final time.” If Richelieu can still talk, he still has work to do. 

He reaches down and slips two fingers back inside Richelieu’s now well-loosened hole.

Richelieu  _arches_  obediently, breathing open-mouthed, panting, “Yes —” 

Treville watches Richelieu’s cock twitch with interest.“But you have to work for it.” 

“I —” the word turns into a long, wanton moan as Treville adds a third finger. 

He waits for Richelieu to open his eyes again before saying firmly, “You can.” 

Richelieu’s eyelids are heavy, pupils dilated, and his thighs shake as Treville pulls him up into his lap. His oil-slicked cock slides along the cleft of Richelieu’s arse, making them both moan. 

He helps Richelieu position himself on his knees. 

“I know you can take it,” Treville says, cradling the back of Richelieu’s head with one hand, pressing their foreheads together. “Let me see you.” 

Richelieu sinks down on him in one motion, unable to hold his own body weight, too exhausted to take it slow. There’s no resistance — his body is stretched out, sore, unable to do anything but take Treville’s cock whole. He won’t be able to sit comfortably tomorrow. 

Treville can’t help but moan, bury his face in Richelieu’s neck for a moment. 

_Finally._

He can feel the tremors that run through Richelieu’s body when he puts his hands on his thighs. 

“Move,” Treville says. 

And Richelieu — Richelieu moves, keening desperately like an animal — taking and yielding, and Treville is  _inside_ him, stretching him open so very wide, sinking so very deep. His body tightens around Treville’s cock each time Richelieu raises himself, as though it can’t bear to let Treville go.

Treville reaches up, gets his hand in Richelieu’s curls and tugs to force him to bare his neck, licks at the sweat trickling down as Richelieu moans. 

His face is wet with tears. “Jean —” he gasps, “Oh, Jean, please —”  

Somehow, he continues to force himself up and back down, taking all of Treville, though his thighs tremble and his hands shake. His golden cross bounces on his chest, catching the candlelight.  

Neither of them last long. Treville waits until Richelieu comes, then lets go, spilling his release inside him over long, breathless moments.

What little was left within Richelieu is forced out slowly, down to the last drop. He sobs like it pains him, and collapses boneless and pliant on Treville’s chest. His body is slick with sweat, his limbs trembling, eyes closed. Treville plays with the curls at the nape of his neck for a moment, giving himself time to recover, before he lifts Richelieu bodily off his now-spent cock and lets him lie on the covers. 

Richelieu lets out a small whimper, but doesn’t move, seemingly too exhausted even to move himself into a more comfortable position. 

Treville allows himself a fond smile, then kisses Richelieu’s damp temple before sitting up. 

Richelieu trembles even more when Treville stands. The sound he makes is questioning and mournful and completely heartrending. 

“It’s alright,” Treville soothes. “I’m just getting a cloth. You won’t want to go to sleep like that.” 

Richelieu doesn’t open his eyes — or move — but he makes another pitiful sound, and Treville can’t help but dart back to press one last kiss to his hair. 

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be back in a moment.” 

It’s not a problem yet — though it has been in the past and is may well be again — but Treville can’t leave someone who needs him, and the cardinal, for all his faults, has never pretended he doesn’t. Least of all when he’s like this. 

The basin of water isn’t large, but it’s enough for Treville’s purposes. He takes it and a cloth back into Richelieu’s room and puts them down on the bedside table, answering Richelieu’s wordless murmur with a quick, “I’m back, see?” and kissing him again in lieu of an apology. 

He sits on the bed, dips the cloth in the water, and sets to work. He begins by gently wiping away the mess from Richelieu’s thighs, still trembling. Richelieu makes a small sound of protest when Treville turns his attention to his groin, but Treville says, “It’s alright, I’ll be done in a moment,” and he settles. 

“Can you turn over?” Treville says, after cleaning the last traces. 

Richelieu doesn’t answer. 

“Please?” 

A quiet grunt. 

“Alright,” Treville sighs, shaking his head and smiling. He takes Richelieu’s hips in his hands and turns him over, then goes to rewet the cloth. When he returns his gaze to the task at hand, Richelieu’s eyes are open but unfocused. 

“Don’t worry,” Treville says. “I know you’re tired. Just a little longer.” 

Richelieu shifts uncomfortably as Treville cleans the oil and come from his buttocks, and shivers when Treville spreads them. 

So vulnerable like this, Treville thinks as he carefully wipes away the mess trickling from Richelieu’s hole. 

He hears a quiet moan, and strokes Richelieu’s thigh with his free hand for a moment. 

“Just a little longer,” Treville repeats. He puts the cloth back in the basin, then starts working on Richelieu’s back — long, steady strokes, careful to keep his free hand elsewhere as a point of contact Richelieu can focus on. 

After the back, Treville starts on the backs of Richelieu’s legs, then his arms. He turns Richelieu over again carefully, noting the closed eyes and tranquil expression, then starts on his chest, arms and legs again. Treville pays extra attention to Richelieu’s hands, kissing each finger after wiping it clean. 

When finished, Treville throws the cloth back in the basin, and gives himself another moment to stare at Richelieu, at the long, pale stretch of his naked body. At the traces of greying hair on his chest, around his groin. At his cock, soft and small now, utterly exhausted. 

“Do you want me to find your nightclothes?” Treville asks. 

He’s only a little surprised when Richelieu mutters without opening his eyes, “No.”  

Richelieu doesn’t move to make it easier for Treville to pull the covers back, but he shifts enough that Treville can tuck him in. He buries his face in the pillows and pulls the sheets up so all Treville can see is his grey curls poking out at the top. 

After a few moments spent cleaning himself, Treville lifts the corner of the sheets and climbs into bed behind Richelieu. 

Richelieu murmurs something inaudible as Treville slings an arm over his waist and kisses the spot where his shoulder meets his neck. 

It’s good that he has the time — the excuse — to stay tonight. The last time he had to leave after a night like this, he had felt Richelieu’s absence like a musket wound. Much better to have him here, safe and warm in his arms. 

“Staying?” Richelieu’s voice is hoarse and weary, but content. 

“Until sunrise,” Treville says. 

"Good," Richelieu sighs. He turns over under Treville's arm, presses closer. His breath is warm against Treville's shoulder.


End file.
